


Level of Concern

by deripmaver



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alpha Damen (Captive Prince), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Damen is Besotted, First Meetings, Instant Connection Due To Omegaverse Shenanigans, M/M, Meet-Cute, Omega Laurent (Captive Prince), Omega Verse, POV Damen (Captive Prince), POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Scent Marking, Scenting, be warned, canon typical warnings apply, the regent does not appear but he is a presence, this actually gets kind of dark in the second half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deripmaver/pseuds/deripmaver
Summary: Damen is instantly besotted with a gorgeous blonde omega...who is currently buying Plan B at his pharmacy.
Relationships: Damen & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Laurent & Nicaise (Captive Prince)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 216





	Level of Concern

**Author's Note:**

> lol despite the summary, like i said in the tags, the second half gets a bit dark. 
> 
> inspired by katy and i wrote this in like a day. enjoy?
> 
> capri needs more omegaverse!!!!

The blonde omega who entered the pharmacy on an otherwise boring, quiet Saturday morning was the most beautiful boy Damen had ever seen.

It was gray and cold in the Arles fall – underneath his starched pharmacist’s coat, Damen shivered, and only partially from the deep shudder of those striking blue eyes gazing down at a bottle of ibuprofen. He seemed to be perusing all sorts of little bottles along the shelves, painkillers and allergy medication and saline solution, occasionally picking something up and eyeing it suspiciously.

The omega’s hair was a pretty lemon-blonde, a slick yellow bob that curled around his delicate chin. It reminded Damen of summers in Akielos, sipping Limoncello at his family’s villa by the seashore, the sun warm and glowing against white sand. Looking at him, Damen felt a pang of homesickness down into the pit of his stomach, despite his obviously Veretian appearance.

There was no one else in the pharmacy, save for his assistant Erasmus, dutifully stocking the shelves behind the pharmacy counter and measuring out medicines into their individual bottles.

Damen grinned and went to go chat with the omega.

The first thing he noticed was _scent_.

It was an immediate connection – the omega’s gaze snapped up, pupils blowing wide and dark until the blue was almost swallowed by inky black.

Damen’s breath stilled, and he unintentionally began to release his own pheromones into the air as the omega’s scent curled around him. It was sweet, bright like citrus, different than the usual musky sandalwood and rose he encountered that clashed so hideously with Damen’s own soft mint.

His inner alpha purred at the scent, instinct suddenly vibrant in his normally so analytical mind. The omega turned towards him, as though in a trance, and the mingling of their pheromones was cool cocktails on the beach in the summer months, lush gardens bearing ripe fruit with his toes pressed firmly into the soft grass, the thick, heady nights with perfumed flowers releasing a cloying scent as the still-hot stone pathways radiated into his feet.

“Hey,” Damen murmured, and the omega tilted his neck in a soft, submissive posture, so the vein pulsed and throbbed up along it. “My name is Damen.”

The omega flushed. “Laurent.”

He was wearing an oversized hoodie, down past his thighs, and black leggings under soft boots. It was an old hoodie, worn, faded in places like it had been through wash cycle after wash cycle. Out of nowhere, Damen’s mind conjured up images of whose hoodie it might be, but he did not smell another alpha on him. Omegas liked soft, comforting things – inexplicably, Damen imagined Laurent wrapped in his own oversized hoodies, maybe even with Damen’s scarf around his neck covered in his scent, a little nest he could wear outside the house.

Damen ran his fingers through his curls in a way he knew showed off his biceps even beneath his coat and said, gently, “Can I help you with anything today, Laurent?”

Laurent blinked. The blue of his eyes came back, just a bit.

He said, “Where do you carry Plan B?”

Just like that, the moment shattered.

Damen coughed. The first thing that came out of his mouth was, “For you, or…?”

Laurent’s entire demeanor changed, then. He seemed to shutter, the soft, blown-wide openness on his face disappearing as his pupils narrowed to specks.

Damen realized his mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth. An incredible mistake – he was not legally allowed to pry like that when a customer came in.

Luckily – or unluckily – all Laurent did was narrow his eyes until they were like chips of ice and hissed, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Right,” Damen grimaced. “Right. I’ll, um. Right, I have to unlock it.”

Laurent followed him, eyes narrowed, and Damen tried hard to stop kicking himself for his initial fuck up. His head felt fuzzy, his heart pounding and hormones thick in his blood. Maybe there was still a chance to salvage this – Laurent wasn’t bonded, that much was clear. Plan B was an emergency contraceptive, so he’d clearly just had sex, but Damen had casual sex all the time.

He’d never found himself in the pharmacy afterwards, because he wasn’t in danger of getting pregnant – damn, shit was unfair for omegas, wasn’t it?

“You know,” Damen said, “It’s totally unfair that so much of the responsibility for pregnancy falls on omegas. I wish alphas would put in more effort.”

“Me too,” Laurent bit out, as though it was an accusation. That was the problem with citrus scent – Laurent was angry, and when citrus went sour, it sunk into everything. Or, maybe Damen was simply more sensitive to it.

Damen swallowed and made a mental note to buy more condoms. He unlocked the cabinet with the emergency contraception. Should he tell Laurent he was going to buy more condoms? Would that make him seem sensitive to omega issues, or no – would that imply Damen intended to sleep with lots of other people?

 _Didn’t_ Damen intend to sleep with lots more people?

“So,” Damen tried for nonchalant, changing the subject with painful awkwardness, “Arles University? Nice. That’s a great school.”

Laurent blinked down at his hoodie, as though he’d forgotten the words on it. He spread his thin fingers over the lettering, running one thumb with bitten-down nails and cracked cuticles along the fraying edge.

“Yeah,” He murmured, “My brother went there.”

“Oh!” Damen smiled, handing Laurent the emergency contraceptive. Good for up to three days after sex, for those under two hundred pounds. Damen would eat his own shoes if Laurent weighed more than that – he might even be surprised if Laurent cracked a hundred fifty.

That was a little bit surprising, for a male omega of decent height. Damen found himself worrying if Laurent was being provided for, and his alpha instincts rumbled, imagining himself cooking for a contented omega.

Damen realized he’d been silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. He shook his head and continued, “I have a brother. Older. Name’s Kastor.”

“Auguste. Older,” Laurent said. A beat. “He’s dead.”

Damen’s smile froze on his face. Oh _fuck_.

He should say something. He needed to say something. Laurent’s gaze was soft and mournful, and Damen’s alpha instincts screamed in his ears for him to protect.

“My brother slept with my fiance,” Damen blurted out, “They’re engaged now.”

For a moment, Laurent just stared at him. Then he huffed out a soft, sympathetic little laugh, cheeks coloring.

“Sucks,” he said.

“Yeah,” Damen agreed.

He rang up the contraceptive – just a formality, it was free under the national insurance, but for inventory purposes.

As he handed Laurent the bag, he smiled wistfully and said, “Good luck planning for the future with your alpha.”

He froze. It had just come out.

An entire fucking semester on patient interaction and protocol, and he’d absolutely ruined it in the span of five minutes.

Laurent looked at him like he was a complete fucking idiot. His mouth opened, closed, and then he said, so carefully, “Damen, if I am alone at eight in the morning buying Plan B,” he leaned forward deliberately, “I am not ‘ _planning for the future’_ with my alpha.”

Damen wanted to smack himself. He’d never felt more like an idiot in his life. Something about Laurent called to him, beyond the initial compatibility of their scents. The subtle sour edge of stress was ever-present in his scent, as though this was someone who lived under constant pressure, in constant fear. There was an allure to him, a soft sort of sadness that drove Damen’s alpha into overdrive. Even Jokaste had never made him feel that way.

Laurent turned to leave, and Damen was reminded that Laurent was a stranger – a stranger who had listened to Damen say idiotic thing after idiotic thing when he was clearly stressed and buying _emergency contraceptive_. He and Laurent, he realized, would be like ships in the night – an instant scent connection that dissipated once Laurent walked into the cloudy gray morning.

That thought was so painful it hurt.

Damen called, desperate, “Wait!”

Laurent paused, rigid back to Damen.

One last chance – it was all he had.

Damen asked, “Can I give you my number?”

* * *

Laurent had taken the long way home. It was pretty out, later, once the sun had come up and dissipated the cold gray clouds above the city – Laurent had taken a long, lingering walk along the river that split Arles in two and watched as the sunlight slowly began to illuminate patches of ground, until the crinkled brown grass was glowing with gold.

He snuggled deeper into Auguste’s old hoodie. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but sometimes, when Laurent got a whiff of honey in the air of the farmer’s market, he could remember Auguste’s comforting scent blanketed over him.

Nicaise was asleep when Laurent got back to the apartment – that was fine, normal. It was ten thirty, and Nicaise had just turned fourteen, on the cusp of that age where sleep came late at night and lingered until the sun was high above the clouds.

Laurent, rather cruelly, flung open the curtains to his palatial rooms, sending cold light across his scattered papers, games, toys – always toys, even though Nicaise was getting too old to play.

Nicaise let out a low, disgruntled whine, yawning in a way that showed his pointy pup’s teeth. He glared blearily at Laurent, small and swallowed up by the thick down comforter in his bed.

Laurent asked, without preamble, “Is Uncle around?”

Nicaise shook his head, stretching long like a cat, the edge of his nightshirt dipping over his thin shoulder. “Came in and kissed my head, saying he had an early morning meeting.” His eyes glittered, unpleasantly curious. “You were already gone, though. He wanted to know why.”

Laurent, by way of answer, ripped out the bag from the pharmacy and tossed it with a sharp _thwack_ against Nicaise. He hoped it stung where it hit him.

Nicaise yelped, glaring murderously as he ripped it open, feral with teeth and tongue. Just like a pup, trying still to be just like a pup even though it was past the age where anyone would accept that behavior – anyone, save for Uncle.

Laurent felt no satisfaction at the way Nicaise’s expression changed when he pulled out the emergency contraceptive. His young face changed from anger, to revulsion, to utter terror. His tongue darted out as his mind worked to come up with some excuse, some explanation, anything – but he hadn’t been playing the game nearly as long as Laurent and was slow to catch up.

Before Nicaise could say anything, Laurent spat, “Does he know you had your first heat?”

“I don’t need this,” Nicaise responded, belatedly. “I’m not – I don’t-”

“Bullshit,” Laurent hissed. He grabbed Nicaise’s arm tight enough to bruise – maybe even over some bruises he’d gotten last night, judging by the way he winced.

It wouldn’t do to expose his sense of urgency, normally, but there was a gravity of understanding in both of them about what this meant.

“I don’t need this,” Nicaise said again, even weaker this time.

“I know he fucked you last night,” Laurent breathed. “I know he hasn’t in a long time. You’re getting too old for him, and you know that, because that month he was away for a business trip-”

“Shut up,” Nicaise snapped.

“You think I don’t remember hiding in my room? Refusing to let anyone see me? Pretending I had ‘stomach flu,’” Laurent mocked. “You know once you get your heat, you’re too old for him.”

“Shut up,” Nicaise’s voice wavered. “No, that’s not – he loves me more than he ever loved you.”

“You knew how lucky you were that he was away for your first heat,” Laurent’s breath came out of him in a punch, his stomach caving with how the words rushed out, “You meticulously cleaned your sheets. You’ve been stealing my fucking suppressants, but you don’t know that you need to take them every day for it to work. You’re terrified, and you should be.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Nicaise’s voice cracked. He blinked wetly, blue eyes covered in the familiar glassy sheen of tears. “Shut up, shut up, it’s not true-”

“So give it back,” Laurent said, stomach plummeting, no joy in his voice. “Give me the Plan B back, and tell him you’ve gotten your heat.” He paused, needing to hammer the point home, no matter how much it hurt. “Did you beg to go back to your own bed afterwards because you were worried you’d wake up wet next to him, and even if you cleaned he’d be able to smell it in his sheets?”

Nicaise looked devastated, grief-stricken. He clung to the medicine like he clung to the stuffed toys that littered his bed, to the teddy bear which was the only remnant of the life he’d had before Laurent’s uncle had chosen him.

Laurent hated when Nicaise cried. He’d cried at the beginning, and now that it was ending, his long-buried tears had reappeared. He must have known it was ending, and wasn’t it kinder to let it end? He’d be away from the man who abused him, he could try and make a real life for himself, unlike Laurent.

If any of uncle’s boys could, Laurent thought it would be Nicaise. He’d seen where the rest of them ended up, though – drugs, underage prostitution, dying anonymously in a back-alleyway in the underbelly of Arles. Could he bear to risk it?

“Nicaise,” Laurent let his voice soften, to something resembling kindness, “We need to get you on birth control.”

He couldn’t take it back now. He’d help Nicaise survive this, no matter the cost.

Nicaise tossed his head back and laughed, glaring at Laurent like he was stupid. Laurent felt stupid, outwitted by his uncle’s plans and lifelong cruelty that Laurent could simply not commit to.

“How am I supposed to do that, dumbass?” Nicaise snapped, wiping at his wet eyes. “Even if your uncle wasn’t breathing down my neck constantly, I don’t have an ID, so I don’t have insurance. I don’t fucking exist.”

Laurent swallowed. Fuck. Of course, of course.

All Uncle’s boys got seen to by a private doctor that was paid, and threatened, for his silence. Despite it all, Laurent couldn’t hate Paschal – especially not after he disappeared at the same time as uncle’s personal laptop was breached.

Laurent needed someone with medical knowledge, who might be willing to operate under the table, for the sake of a boy in a very dangerous position.

He blinked, suddenly remembering a pair of dark brown eyes and bouncy chocolate curls.

There was a number burning a hole in his back pocket.


End file.
